


build this ship to wreck

by justbreathe80



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Casual Sex, M/M, Miscommunication, Stupid Boys, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time Nate even realized that what he was feeling had long since morphed from hero worship into a full-blown crush, he was in too far to back out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	build this ship to wreck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reallyyeahokay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallyyeahokay/gifts).



> reallyyeahokay, I used your prompt as a jumping off point...I hope you like this! As soon as I read what you wrote, this idea came to me and I ran with it. Apparently this is a truly rare pair thing, because I created the Nate MacKinnon/Matt Duchene pair! 
> 
> Title from Florence and the Machine.

“Oh, man,” Matt says, low enough for only Nate’s ears, as he comes to a slow stop next to Nate on the ice. “Not you too.”

In front of them, Sid’s skating hard to snag the puck and head in on a breakaway, and Nate wants to look away. He knows intellectually he should, but he can’t help it. He’ll challenge anyone to look away when Sid does that. 

He loses the thread of what Matt is saying, is the thing.

“Huh?” he finally responds, tearing his eyes away from where Sid is circling the goal, catching Matt’s eye. 

Matt smiles and shakes his head, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, cheeks bright red. It’s a flashback to practices in Denver, Matt laughing and skating faster than Nate’s ever seen. It’s everything magical about that first year--the one he’d like to remember.

“I’ve been there, Razor. But, seriously, that one…”

Nate can feel his own eyes widen, his cheeks burning even more than they already were from exertion. “Dutchy, what? No.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “Not buying it, kid. And I don’t blame you one bit.” 

They turn away from each other at the sound of skate blades slicing across the ice, in time to see Sid sail a beauty right into the net, high blocker side. 

Yeah, Nate’s screwed.

*****

Nate has known Sid since he was just a kid, and Sid was only barely an adult himself. Cole Harbour is a small town, and Sid was the only celebrity they had. Sid had always been so nice to Nate, talked to him about hockey when he didn’t need to, let Nate join him for training when Nate had just started with the Mooseheads. 

By the time Nate even realized that what he was feeling had long since morphed from hero worship into a full-blown crush, he was in too far to back out.

It had been okay though--Nate in Halifax then Denver, Sid in Pittsburgh and all over the country and the world. They didn’t see each other a lot. Nate could keep it tamped down.

This summer has served to blow everything wide fucking open.

First, there was Prague, which was amazing, magical almost. Three weeks in a storybook European city, mornings spent on the ice, afternoons spent in cafes, Sid loose and smiling and happier than Nate had ever seen him, despite the early playoff exit.

He can remember like it was still happening what it felt like to throw his arms around Sid on the ice after the gold medal game, Sid’s smile as he drank whatever was offered to him in the locker room after, Sid pressed up against him as they stumbled from club to club that night, Sid pressing Nate up against Nate’s hotel room door and burying his nose behind Nate’s ear. 

Then Cole Harbour, the sort of slow, easy summer that he never would have imagined he’d ever have again once he made the show. Sure, they work out and hit the ice most days, head up to PEI with Andrew, do a bunch of publicity stuff, but it’s really just them. 

Nate knows this is more than a crush, and he knows how stupid that is. Sid is...Sid. The Next One. Generational player, biggest star in the sport. Nate’s friend.

It’s been a great summer. Nate’s counting down the days until training camp.

*****

Another mid-August day, another couple of hours spent in the rink in Halifax, Matt joining them again. He didn’t spend the whole summer with Sid and Andy this year like he had before, but came into town for just a couple of weeks after spending the summer in Toronto. 

Nate keeps his head down today, but can’t help the way his eyes always seem to catch on Sid, no matter what Nate does to keep it from happening.

At the end of the practice, Nate’s jittery just from trying so hard not to seem like he’s paying too much attention that he startles when Matt skates by and bumps their shoulders together. 

“Nate, you look like you could use a drink,” Matt says, pitched low enough that only Nate can hear.

Nate sighs. He looks up as Sid skates by and holds out his fist, sweaty and panting and smiling at Nate. The contact is almost too much. 

“Yeah,” Nate replies, feeling like his equipment weighs a thousand pounds as he leaves the ice to follow Sid to the locker room.

Matt walks by his side, their elbows brushing as they make their way down the hall. “Cool, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

*****

Halifax’s bar scene is okay, but Nate’s admittedly no expert. It’s hard for Nate to go out around here these days without being recognized, so he tends to hang out with his family, or at Sid’s place.

Ugh.

It ends up being fine, though, because when Matt picks up Nate, he doesn’t ask Nate where they should go. Instead, he drives them to a place near Dalhousie, definitely a college bar, but school’s not in session so it’s a bit quiet. Nate has no idea how Matt found this place, but he’s grateful that it looks like he can just pull down the brim of his hat and be left alone tonight.

They find a table, and Matt, without asking, goes to the bar and comes back with four beers. 

So they’re talking then.

Matt doesn’t say anything while Nate drinks his first beer, just leans back in the booth, black t-shirt stretching along his arms and shoulders. He must have been training like a beast this summer, because he looks more bulked up than he did the same time last year. They both half pay attention to the highlights from the Jays game in the meantime--they're the hottest ticket in Canada that summer. 

When Nate puts down his empty bottle, he looks at Matt, raises his eyebrow. “So?”

“So…” Matt grins, leans forward. “How’s your summer been?”

“Fuck off, Dutchy. You asked that four days ago. Ask me what you really came to ask me.”

Matt leans back again, and he’s not smiling now. “Anything happen? With you and Sid?”

Nate snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m not fucking lying to you. I really don’t think that’s on the table.”

Matt pins him with a stare. “But you want to.”

Nate picks up the next bottle. Matt’s smarter than he lets on, getting them each two. Or himself one, and Nate three. 

“Of course I do.”

Matt doesn’t say anything for what feels like too long. He’s considering something--considering Nate, maybe, by the way he’s staring. Matt’s a talker usually, and this much silence is making Nate squirm in his seat. 

Finally, Matt breaks the silence. “Listen, Razor, I know what you’re going through. I do. I spent five summers panting after the guy. More than that, even, Jesus. I am in no fucking position to judge at all.”

Nate knew that Sid and Matt had trained together, that Matt had a very healthy dose of admiration for Sid, but he didn’t know this. “I--I didn’t know, man.”

Matt snatches the other beer. “I didn’t do anything or say anything for a long time, then last summer I just--I couldn’t not. And he was so Sid about it. So fucking nice and polite as he shot me straight down.”

“Jesus, Matt.” Nate has a sudden urge to reach forward, to give Matt some kind of comfort, but Matt’s leaning back again, too far away for Nate to touch. “I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Matt says, laughing and shaking his head, “don’t feel too bad for me. We got epically wasted on his birthday last year and made out and he sucked me off. It was awesome. And then he politely let me down again.”

Nate laughs, loud and long enough that they’re starting to attract attention. He wants to be jealous, but he can’t even be. It’s just so Sid somehow. 

When they finally calm down, Nate sighs. “I feel like such a stupid kid.”

“Nate,” Matt says, smiling, leaning forward, and Nate’s heart starts to race a little, _what_ , “you aren’t a stupid kid. I’d think you were stupid if you weren’t a little bit in love with him.” Matt reaches out his hand and clasps it around Nate’s wrist. Nate wasn’t thinking this was anything but a friend and teammate comforting him before this moment, but now, Matt’s fingertips on the thin skin of his wrist are making Nate’s breath come faster and making him shift in his chair.

Jesus, he must be really hard up. 

Matt doesn’t let go though, and Nate doesn’t pull away, and they’re not talking anymore. This is so stupid--he’s known Matt for years. They’ve seen each other in some pretty amazing and some pretty shitty moments in those years, and while he wasn’t blind and certainly noticed Matt’s--everything, it hadn’t crossed his mind.

But damn, it’s crossing it now. 

Nate’s still not sure what to do, but Matt’s fingers moving slowly up to the center of his palm is enough to get him moving. Nate yanks his hand unceremoniously out of Matt’s, springing to his feet.

“Razor, I’m sorry--” Matt starts, looking down, but Nate doesn’t let him finish, just reaches out to tug Matt to his feet. Matt loses his balance a bit and stumbles into Nate’s chest, and Nate can’t be assed to care about the fact that they’re in public, because Matt feels so good pressed against him. All Nate can do is wrap his arm around him. 

“Are you good to drive?”

Matt looks up at him. “What?”

“I’ve had a bit too much, I think...and I’m not feeling exactly in my right mind either.” Nate tugs Matt just a bit closer, enough that he knows Matt can feel the hard outline of Nate’s dick pressing against his thigh.

“Right, um.” Matt clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m good. Yes.”

“Good.”

Nate doesn’t remember how they get out of the bar, or to the car, or the city blocks to Matt’s hotel. He doesn’t remember anything but Matt’s hand wrapped around his, Matt’s hand on his thigh in the car, Matt pressing him up against the door once they’re inside the room.

Matt’s mouth is hot and wet and he’s all but devouring Nate, and it’s all Nate can do to bury his hands in Matt’s hair and hold on. This feels so fucking good, Nate doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t want to stop.

That might be why he practically whines when Matt pulls away, pressing his palms to Nate’s chest and pushing him back. He’s flushed and panting and Nate just wants to keep going, but Matt holds firm.

“Nate, fuck, hold on. Just--what about Sid?”

Nate can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “What? You’re thinking about Sid right now?”

“Yes. I mean no, I just--this is about him after all.”

Nate leans forward, as much as Matt will let him. “Last time I checked, he isn’t here now.”

It takes Nate by surprise when Matt pushes him back, hard. “Let’s go, MacKinnon,” he says, grinning, and Nate would be even stupider than he actually is to say no to that.

*****

“God, come on--what are you waiting for?”

Matt kicks his heels against the small of Nate’s back, and Nate huffs a laugh into Matt’s neck. They’ve been kissing for ages, Matt’s mouth hot and swollen and wet against Nate’s. They’ve lost their shirts, Matt’s fingertips skating along Nate’s spine, his legs wrapped around Nate’s waist in a move that belies such flexibility that it makes Nate’s head spin.

The sharp bite of nails against his back pulls him out of wherever he’s been, and Matt’s plaintive, “Fuck, Nate,” gets him the rest of the way there.

“What?” Nate leans in to nip at Matt’s lips one more time.

“Fuck, just do something already. You’re killing me.” Matt reaches a hand down between them and wraps it around Nate’s dick, right through his shorts. “You’re sure you want to keep kissing?”

Nate groans and pushes himself back. “Right.” 

They both lose their shorts and underwear and Nate’s still kneeling above Matt’s body. He can’t help but stop and take it in, this body that he has seen hundreds of times, that has blended in with the background almost. Now, it’s all Nate can see. 

“God,” he breathes out, and Matt closes his eyes, arches up into the hand that Nate has pressed gently to the center of his chest. “You look--”

“Just touch me.”

It’s easier than Nate would have imagined, if he’d imagined it before this moment. Easy to trace his fingertips down to Matt’s abdomen, to trace the muscles there, to run the pads of his fingers along the coarse trail of hair, to close his hand around Matt’s hard, leaking dick. 

He leans down to swallow the gasps and moans coming from Matt’s mouth as Nate strokes him, tight and fast, but not so fast that they’ll get to the finish line too quickly. This is perfect, actually, because Nate can get right back to where he left off, tangling his tongue with Matt’s while he works Matt’s dick, makes him bite Nate’s lip on the upstroke. He can feel how much this is doing it for Matt, Nate holding him down with the strength of his end-of-summer body.

Matt wrenches his mouth away from Nate’s, gasping. “Oh my god, oh god--I can’t.”

Nate leans into Matt’s ear, crowding closer. “You can, I know you can.”

“Fuck.” Nate winces as Matt’s nails dig sharply into Nate’s back, but it doesn’t make Nate’s dick wilt where it’s tucked up against Matt’s thigh. The opposite, in fact, and all he can do is hold Matt down while he bucks and comes and comes, hot between them.

Nate’s head is swimming, but he has the presence of mind to ease them onto their sides, Matt’s eyes shut tight, his breathing labored. Nate turns onto his back, looks up at the ceiling, clenching his hands, not wanting to wait one more minute, but wanting Matt’s hands on him more.

"Come on," Matt says a few moments later, tugging and pushing Nate around until he's propped up against the headboard, and Matt is kneeling between his legs. He smiles softly, reaches up to run his hands down Nate's thighs.

When Matt leans down, wrapping his kiss-swollen lips around Nate's dick, Nate can't do anything but clench his fists in the sheets and hold on. 

Matt's good at this. He catches the rhythm quickly and easily, uses his hand at the base of Nate's dick as he works the rest with his mouth and just the right amount of tongue. The lead up to this was way too long for Nate to last in the face of that.

He reaches down, tentatively touches the back of Matt's head, which Matt doesn't seem to mind, so Nate threads his fingers into Matt's hair. "I'm not going to last," he manages, and Matt doesn't let up. If anything, he goes harder. Nate's twenty but he likes to think he's got a bit of stamina. This is a lost cause. 

He tugs at Matt's hair, bites out a "Matt, fuck--" and Matt gets the message, pulls off of Nate's dick and starts working Nate with his hand. Nate opens his eyes, and, god, he doesn't want to close them, because Matt's working him hard, not trying to draw it out at all, and he's got Nate's dick aimed right toward his mouth.

"Oh god," Nate groans, and forces himself not to squeeze his eyes shut, to not lose the thread of this, as he shoots in Matt's open mouth, on his tongue, his lips. The last few spurts slide down Matt's chin, and Nate's body does its best to get it up yet again just at the sight of that. Damn.

Nate wants to watch what happens next, but he's not sure he's ever come so hard in his life, and can't do anything but cast his eyes back up to the ceiling and just try to stay coherent. A moment later, Matt slumps down next to him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He curls into Nate's body with a smug smile.

They don't have anywhere to be, no one who's waiting for them, so Nate drapes his arm around Matt's waist and lets himself fall asleep.

*****

The sound of the shower turning on breaks through the haze of Nate's sleep. He's alone, but the spot next to him is still warm from Matt's body. He turns over into it, lets that warmth sink into his body.

It's been a long summer. It feels good to be able to do this.

He must doze back off again, because he wakes the second time to the sound of Matt's laughter, surprisingly gentle hands carding his sleep-mussed hair off his forehead. 

"Morning," Nate says, stretching his legs out, not wanting to move so much that Matt moves his hand away. Matt sits down, wraps his hand around Nate's ankle.

"Why don't you get up and shower? I can drop you home to get ready for practice." 

Nate opens his eyes, searches Matt's face for any trace of awkwardness, any indication that Nate might have managed to let a stupid summer _thing_ mess up a friendship with a teammate. But Matt looks fine, he's smiling, he's tracing his fingertips along the bone of Nate's ankle, and it feels fine too.

"Yeah, man, give me ten minutes." 

It takes Nate ten minutes just to get to the shower--Nate reluctant to leave the warm bed, Matt seemingly reluctant to let him go, Matt's mouth just as incredible beneath his as it had been the night before.

*****

Nate needs to get his own place. Really. Because he's twenty, and while spending the night with Matt Duchene certainly doesn't warrant a walk of shame, he just feels weird having to make small talk with his parents over the breakfast table on mornings like this.

Not that there have been many this summer.

Nate's not sure the right protocol for this departure, but Matt does what he's been doing since everything took a turn the night before, and leans across the gearshift to pull Nate close. He presses a light kiss below Nate's ear before he pulls away, nothing that anyone else could ever see.

"Listen, Dutchy--"

"You should give it a shot."

Nate doesn't finish his sentence. "What?"

Matt clears his throat. "You should give it a shot. With Sid."

"Yeah, right." 

"Don't get me wrong." Matt pushes his hair back from where it's fallen across his forehead, still wet from the shower. "I had a great time last night. I'd love to do it again, but you'll regret it if you don't try, man. It's the holy fucking grail, you know?"

Nate laughs so hard that he can't do anything but curl his head toward his lap, body shaking. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Nate." Matt's hand clasps Nate's thigh. "I've been where you are. Yeah, I got shot down, but it's better to know. What if he feels the same way? He looks at you like he might."

Images of the past three months flash through Nate's mind, but this time it's just distilled down to Sid's laugh, his smile, every time he included Nate when he didn't need to, how he stayed all summer.

Maybe it's nothing. But maybe it's something. 

Sid's his friend. That he knows for sure after this summer, and he doesn't think that a season spent on different sides of the country won't cure any potential awkwardness if he's wrong about this. 

God, what if he's not wrong about this?

"Thanks, man," Nate says, and leans in to kiss the corner of Matt's mouth, hoping to God that Mrs. Tremblay next door isn't taking her morning walk right now. "See you this afternoon."

"Absolutely."

*****

Nate wakes up every morning after Matt leaves, to head back to Denver, feeling like he has a big countdown clock over his head. Every time he thinks he's found the right moment to say something to Sid, it doesn't feel like the right moment, or he can't figure out how to say it, or he's just chicken shit. 

Sid's leaving in three days. It's now or never.

Nate, Sid, and some of the other guys are doing some dry lands one morning, Sid on the exercise bike next to him, Nate pointedly not looking at Sid's thighs. They're both dripping sweat, breathing hard, pushing each other, and Nate looks up from his bike to catch Sid's eye. 

Staring at Nate.

It's not the right time, nothing like Nate imagined it, but after they've cooled down and showered, left the rink, Nate just stops _thinking_ for a goddamn second and clasps his hand around Sid's bicep when they get to Sid's car, turns him around to face Nate.

Sid's eyes are wide. "Nate, what--are you okay?"

"No. I mean, I don't know. I mean--"

"Jesus, did you hurt yourself? We went pretty hard."

Nate shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut. "No, I'm not hurt. I just--I have to say something to you, and I need you to let me get through it."

Sid just stares, like he's never seen Nate before, but nods. "Okay," he says softly. Nate takes a deep breath.

"This summer, it's been awesome. And I want you to know that it's been so great to get to hang out with you."

"Nate--" Nate glares at him. "Sorry." Sid closes his mouth.

"I don't want to leave without telling you something. I want--ugh, fuck. Okay. Can I take you out tonight? Just us?"

Sid doesn't say anything, and Nate's heart is pounding so hard that he's sure Sid can hear it, can definitely feel it at least with as close as they're standing.

"Shit, Sid, say something."

"Sorry, you told me not to talk." 

Nate slides his hand down Sid's arm, threads their fingers together. Sid goes with it, and Nate feels something like hope opening up, wide and expansive, inside his chest. "You can talk now. Please."

Sid squeezes his hand. "You want to take me out."

"Yes."

"I've been waiting for you all summer, you know." Sid smiles, that goofy, gorgeous smile that's been tying Nate in knots since he was fifteen. He looks around, prays that no one is there, because if he doesn't get his mouth on Sid's that minute, he doesn't know what he'll do.

It's like everything he imagined, but a million times more, because Sid's hand is in his and he's laughing into Nate's mouth. He couldn't ever have imagined how it would feel, he knows now. 

*****  
_Thanks_ , he texts to Matt in the early morning hours the next day. Sid's sound asleep, face down in the pillow next to Nate, and somehow still looks better than Nate's ever seen him.

Surprisingly, his phone buzzes with a new message just a few minutes later. _????_

_Found the holy grail, man._

The next message comes through almost immediately. 

_Hahahahahahahahaha. Get it, razor._

Nate settles into Sid's side, laughing himself, stealing his warmth in the cool of the late summer morning. This is Sid's sanctuary, his place away from everything about his regular life, and he let Nate into it. He asked him in. 

Nate's head is still spinning. It might be for a long time. 

Sid turns next to him, tugs Nate into the circle of his arms, and Nate goes easily. "Everything okay?" Sid says, voice rough with sleep, fingertips skating up underneath Nate's t-shirt. 

"Everything's perfect," Nate answers, and drops his phone to the bed, giving himself over to the quiet space between them, smiling into Sid's mouth as they move together, feeling like nothing else but the way it feels to be in step with Sid on the ice, stride for stride. 


End file.
